Time passed, the candle was burning low, and there was no sign of Lord Trent. I went to the door and knocked, first gently, then more loudly, but I could get no answer. Then I walked about the room, keeping an eye on Susan Berry, who had, I freely admit, the decency to avoid my gaze. I was beginning to get extremely tired. I wished to sit down, but there was only one form; Susan Berry was already upon it, and, as I said before, it was a very short form. At last I could hold out no longer. Taking my courage in both hands, I sat down boldly at one end of the form. It was a relief to me. Miss Berry sighed. There were not six inches between us. The candle was low in the socket, we both watched it. Without a second’s warning the flame leapt up and then expired. We were in the dark. Miss Berry screamed, and afterwards I heard her crying. I myself made no sign. Fortunately the dawn broke almost immediately. By this time I was getting seriously annoyed with Lord Trent. I had served him faithfully, and yet at the moment of my genuine need he had not come to my succour. I went again to the door and knocked with my knuckles. No answer. Then I kicked it. No answer. Then I seized the handle and violently shook it. To my astonishment the door opened. The policeman had forgotten to lock it. I crept out into the passage, softly closing the door behind me. It was now quite light. The door leading to the street was open, and I could see neither constables nor inspector. I went into the charge room; it was empty. Then I proceeded into the street. On the pavement a piece of paper was lying. I picked it up; it was the note which I had written to Lord Trent. A workman happened to be loitering along a road which crossed this street at right angles. I called out and ran to him. “Can you tell me,” I asked, “why all the officers have left the police station?” “Look ’ere, matey,” he says, “you get on ’ome; you’ve been making a night of it, that’s wot you ’ave.” “But, seriously,” I said. Then I saw a policeman at a distant corner. The workman whistled, and the policeman was obliging enough to come to us. “’Ere’s a cove wants to know why all the police ’as left the police station,” the workman said. “What police station?” the constable said sharply. “Why, this one down here in this side-street,” I said, pointing to the building. As I looked at it I saw that the lamp which I had observed on the previous night no longer hung over the doorway. The constable laughed good-humouredly. “Get away home,” he said. I began to tell him my story. “Get away home,” he repeated--gruffly this time, “or I’ll run you in.” “All right,” I said huffily, and I made as if to walk down the other road. The constable and the workman grinned to each other and departed. As soon as they were out of sight, I returned to my police station.